The First Time I Saw Your Face Read online

  It was her who’d been rocked back on her heels in the end though, wasn’t it? How did he understand what she felt? He was completely on the button, and he’d been so tactful about the accident.

  Off to her left Bryony was treating the umbilical cord of a new lamb with antibiotics. The lamb looked like a stuffed toy in her large hands.

  It was funny how Matt Harper’s level of understanding was so much better than Alex’s, someone who had known her for years. Great, he was sensitive and good-looking and no doubt also kind to small furry animals. Jennifer looked down at the one she was feeding and watched it start to slow its gulping. When the teat came out of its mouth this time she reached down and felt its tiny stomach, now rounded and warm, and lifted it up gently and put it back in with its mother, before picking up another lamb and starting the process all over again.

  She wasn’t going to dwell on the way she’d looked at Matt Harper before he got out of the car; felt flustered even now thinking about it. Like some lovesick cow who had the urge to say, ‘I’m in pain here, so just for a second, if you don’t find it too off-putting, please wrap your arms round me.’

  ‘You look a bit peaky,’ Bryony said, wiping her hands, now free of lamb, down her overalls. ‘Not sleep very well?’

  ‘No, no, I’m fine.’

  Jennifer did some more smiling and Bryony was either convinced or decided to back off. She looked at her watch.

  ‘Anything you want me to see to before I go, Ray?’

  ‘No, pet,’ drifted back over the pens.

  ‘Off for a sleep?’ Jennifer asked.

  ‘Yes, just waiting for your mum to come back with Louise.’

  ‘Where’s Danny?’

  ‘Putting some lambs back out. Top field.’

  Ray ambled to join them. ‘You do look a bit pale, Jen. I can carry on with that if you want to go back and have a bit more of a lie-in.’

  ‘I’m fine, Dad, honestly.’ She didn’t need more solitary time in which to think. ‘I’ll just go and mix up some more milk. Where did you say Mum’s gone?’

  ‘Just to—’

  ‘Buy some bacon,’ Bryony cut in.

  ‘Aye, bacon, that’s it,’ Ray agreed. ‘That’s it. Bacon.’

  Mack emerged from Sonia’s shop with a lot more than his groceries. As he’d suspected, Sonia had proved to be a fount of gossip. He’d had a lucky break when he’d found her and her cleavage leaning on the counter reading a magazine in which Cressida was modelling several thousand pounds’ worth of jewellery and couture. How flabbergasted he was at the news that she was Jennifer’s cousin and as his reward got a bucketload of information, including some tasty stuff about Alex Lambton, one of Jennifer’s old boyfriends from school.

  Now he knew how rich Alex was because his family owned, rather than rented, a huge farm further north; that the Lambton sheep had as good a reputation as the Rosebys’ and that although Jennifer had kicked Alex into touch when he went off to agricultural college, people suspected he would marry her on the spot if she said yes. Sonia didn’t think that was likely as a little bird had told her (tap of the nose) that Jennifer had recently made it clear she saw Alex only as a friend, which would have annoyed Brenda Roseby, who had always looked favourably on him.

  As Sonia had worked through Mack’s shopping list, she’d also confirmed O’Dowd’s version of the accident. Local people, evidently, knew Cressida had been in the car, even if the public at large didn’t, and they suspected drink was involved, although Jennifer had been too badly hurt to be breathalysed. Sonia was of the opinion that it didn’t matter if it had been Jennifer’s fault, she was the one who’d suffered.

  Mack had tried not to listen to the next bit about how Jennifer had fallen apart completely after coming out of hospital. How she wouldn’t eat properly, couldn’t sleep, had to be persuaded to let friends visit. By the end of it the pained expression on his face was genuine.

  A phone call had halted Sonia’s flow, and Mack had heard her, beyond the beaded curtain, talking and giggling with someone called ‘Gregor’. They seemed to be arranging a date in Tyneforth. Mack presumed it was the foreign hunk he’d seen before and the flushed look on Sonia’s face when she returned seemed to confirm that.

  ‘Appreciate you coming in here for your stuff,’ she’d said as she packed his groceries. ‘You could get the supermarket to deliver. A lot do.’

  ‘Oh no,’ he’d replied, ‘I like to support the local community.’

  And the supermarkets are rubbish at providing this standard of gossip.

  As he knew she would, she came out of the shop after he’d left to slip his glasses back into the pocket of his fleece.

  ‘You’re hopeless. Does your girlfriend normally have to look after you like this? I bet she does. I bet she makes sure your mittens are on an ’ickle string round your neck.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ he said, grinning in a boyish way. ‘I think my secret’s out.’

  Back in the cottage, he was cosying a packet of rice up to a tin of tomatoes in one of the crappy cupboards when the doorbell rang.

  The woman on the doorstep was Jennifer’s mother; he could see that straightaway. She had the same high cheekbones and good posture and a kind of haughtiness that made him think of a duchess. Her eyes were the same blue as Jennifer’s too, but whereas Jennifer’s were often cast down, these eyes had locked on to his.

  ‘Morning,’ she said sharply and he knew that whatever was coming was a test. He had to remember that good old Matt Harper had nothing to hide, so he’d probably be a bit confused by her visit.

  ‘Um, hello,’ he said, ‘can I help you?’

  ‘I’m Brenda Roseby, Jennifer’s mother.’

  ‘Jennifer’s mother? Jennifer from the Drama Club? Well, I’m really pleased to meet you.’ He smiled and held out his hand, and she grasped hold of it firmly, gave it one shake and then let go.

  ‘Jennifer’s been very welcoming,’ he said, ‘the whole Drama Club has, and it’s very nice of you to come and introduce yourself.’

  ‘You’re a writer?’

  He did some rapid blinking. ‘Just a little book on Dorset coastal walks—’

  ‘And one on North Somerset. Yes, I know. Found them a bit dry to be honest.’

  Whoa … you’ve actually bought them?

  ‘Dry? You think so?’

  Her face was merciless. ‘Mind you, I’m not fond of writers. We had some other people calling themselves writers here before – in the village, outside our farm. Journalists.’

  ‘I don’t quite understand—’

  ‘Really?’ she said, with an unpleasant laugh. ‘I’ve just seen you come out of the shop. Sonia must have filled you in on who my niece is?’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘Likes to chat, does Sonia.’ There was a hint of lemon there before she added, ‘Although to be fair to her, she’s pretty tight-lipped with journalists.’

  Mack kept his face absolutely gormless-looking. ‘Yes, she did mention it, but to be honest, I don’t take much interest in these things.’

  ‘So you’re not that kind of writer, then?’ Those blue eyes gave him a sharp look to match the tone.

  Yuk. Direct question. Calls for a direct lie.

  ‘No, wouldn’t know where to start.’

  ‘Actually, the problem is they don’t know where to stop.’

  He could tell she wasn’t finished with him and watched her fold her arms.

  ‘So, you’re going to be in the play? Bit strange, isn’t it? Only here for a while and want to join in? You don’t know anyone.’

  ‘It’s because I don’t know anyone I like to join in.’ He was pleased how neatly he’d turned that around. ‘It’s a lonely business, writing.’

  She studied him and then pointed towards Mr Armstrong’s door. ‘I deliver lunch here. Meals on Wheels, kind of thing.’ The blue eyes seemed harder. ‘I’m here twice a week. Every week.’

  And you’ll be keeping an eye on me. Nice warning.

  After a few m
ore questions about where he was planning to walk next she said goodbye and went back down the path to an old green Fiat parked at the kerb. When she opened the door, he could see that there was a baby strapped in the car seat and presumed it was her grandchild. Just then he couldn’t remember if Jennifer’s brother had a daughter or a son.

  Back inside, he sat down on the arm of the chair, misjudging it and nearly ending up on his backside on the carpet. He had no idea if he’d passed the test, not a clue, but he understood perfectly well that she didn’t trust him and didn’t like him. Was that because of the journalists or some other, more personal reason? She was protective of Jennifer, no mistaking that.

  He sat down properly in the chair and stared into the fire. He couldn’t imagine Phyllida ever looking after him like that. Whenever he’d been picked on she’d just told him to ‘toughen up’.

  The bell rang again and his heart went into overdrive. He didn’t know if he could withstand another bout of questioning.

  It was Mr Armstrong.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ he said in a gruff voice.

  Mack was about to say that really he was a bit busy, thank you all the same, when Mr Armstrong took a step forward and he understood that the old man was inviting himself in. He stepped aside to let him pass.

  ‘See you’ve had that Jennifer’s mother here,’ Mr Armstrong said as he shuffled in. ‘Dreadful business with her niece going to America – Sodom and Gomorrah, it is there. And that Sonia over the shop,’ there was a sound of air being drawn in rapidly, ‘she’s bought that latest husband of hers off the Internet, you know, some foreign boy. How her father stands it I don’t know, carrying on right under his nose.’

  Mack followed Mr Armstrong into the house and shut the door. ‘Really, that’s fascinating, you must tell me more. Come and have a sit-down. Fancy a bit of toast with that cup of tea?’

  CHAPTER 16

  A week into rehearsals and Mack knew that, were Shakespeare still around, he would have jabbed him repeatedly with his quill. Instead of developing some kind of onstage chemistry with Jocelyn, who was meant to be playing the love of his life, he wanted to slap her soundly. The more he saw of her the less he liked her, particularly the way she stuck the knife into Jennifer. Which was pretty rich, seeing what he was planning to do to her, but it irritated the Hell out of him. Jennifer’s response was invariably to walk away, but from the set of her shoulders and that chin going down, he could see that each little snide remark hit home.

  Shakespeare would also have been discomforted at the amount of on-stage chemistry that was present between brother and sister, Sebastian and Viola. Mack was pretty disturbed by it himself – not least because if he didn’t make it clear to Lisa that he wasn’t interested, she was going to keep on acting like a lovely pneumatic wall stopping Jennifer coming anywhere near him.

  Those were just two of the things he hated about the play. Others included: the number of references to people not being what they seemed, the stupid costume he was going to have to wear, the fact he had to be in it at all and the almighty fiasco it looked like becoming. Doug kept crashing into him whenever he tried to read his lines and move at the same time, Neale was playing Malvolio as if he was some kind of international terrorist and Steve and Gerry had taken the message that they were the source of a lot of comedy in the play as an excuse to turn into Ant and Dec.

  Right now he was watching Viola wooing Olivia on behalf of the Duke, and it was painful. Lisa was striding around and slapping her thigh like a principal boy in panto and Jocelyn was coming across as a woman on heat rather than a dignified lady. And if Pamela the leech, who was meant to be Olivia’s witty maid, didn’t stop screeching and flapping her arms around, the audience was going to think she was a hyperventilating seagull.

  Little wonder Finlay was doing a lot of placing his hands on the top of his head and swaying. Did this club have to pay the audience to come and see them?

  Mack looked across to the Blue Room, where Jennifer was kneeling on the floor cutting a pattern out of some material with a large pair of scissors. Her blonde hair had fallen forward and he was beginning to think of it as a shiny blonde shield. She was wearing a skirt today, which was now spread out around her like pale, powder-blue water, and he wondered idly whether she was in danger of cutting through it when she cut out the pattern. She straightened up suddenly and her hair swung back and as always the sight of the scarring made him feel uneasy. He screwed his eyes up a little and tried to imagine what she had looked like without it.

  Doug was giving him a quizzical look when he opened his eyes properly again. That was the trouble: while he was watching Jennifer, there was always someone watching him: her mother, the people in the library, Doug. All those people looking out for her and only him looking out for his entire family.

  ‘Right-ho,’ Finlay said, ‘Doug and Matt, let’s have another go at Act Three, scene three, where Antonio and Sebastian take leave of each other.’

  Instead of my senses.

  Doug lumbered to his feet and gave him a thumbs-up as the door to the hall opened, and a tall, tanned guy walked in. Doug did something funny with his face and Mack saw Jennifer stand up quickly and smooth down her skirt.

  ‘Hello, Alex,’ Neale said, ‘looking for Jennifer? She’s in the Blue Room.’

  Ah, the famous Alex Lambton, the one who’s carrying a torch for Jennifer.

  Alex said hello to various people as he passed through the hall and seemed to make a big show of talking to Finlay and apologising for disrupting the rehearsal. Mack could see Jennifer through the open door, stooping to pick up the bolt of material and the pieces she had cut from it and then placing it all on the table. Then she moved the bolt of material off the table and leaned it against the wall. She fiddled about with the scissors, first placing them on the pieces of material and then directly on the table.

  You’re feeling cornered in that little room.

  Mack heard Finlay say, ‘Matt, if you would …’ and went and stood on his opening mark and saw the door of the Blue Room close behind Alex. Damn, he’d made spectacularly little progress with Jennifer since that car journey; he got the impression that she was avoiding him. If she did talk it was either with her chin firmly down or turned away, so that the perfect side of her face was all he saw. He could almost feel her embarrassment like a fence around her.

  Now this Alex had put the kibosh on getting any further this evening.

  Pressed up against the bar in the pub later, Mack’s original impression that Jennifer felt cornered hadn’t wavered. She was looking marooned at one end of the large table with this Alex, his back to the rest of the group, effectively blocking her off. Which confirmed Mack’s other impression: Alex didn’t really care much for the Drama Club, and all that bonhomie in the hall earlier had been false. And Mack knew false when he saw it.

  All in all, this Alex was a bit of a stuffed shirt … although the guy deserved some points – from Sonia’s information it seemed as if the accident hadn’t changed Jennifer in his eyes.

  Mack decided not to think about what he would have done in the same circumstances and worried instead about the more pressing problem of Lisa. Literally pressing – she had him right up against the bar, and although Doug seemed to be giving her his full repertoire of filthy looks, she wasn’t taking the hint. He was therefore relieved when he saw Alex get up and come towards him, causing Lisa to back off a little.

  Within seconds, the guy’s superior attitude had got right up his nose. He was showing off in front of Jennifer, who had come to join him, and Mack understood pretty quickly that it was at his expense. He had to play this straight down the line – to be pleasant and naive. To be Matt Harper.

  ‘Jennifer and I go back a long way,’ Alex said when hands had been shaken and Mack saw Jennifer’s lips do a little twitch.

  Next Alex assumed a cod West-Country accent to say, ‘Hear you’re from Bristol, down in Yokel Land.’

  You prick.

  Matt Harper nodded am
icably.

  ‘Fancy yourself as a bit of an actor, do you, then?’

  ‘Well, I—’

  ‘Used to do some myself. Too busy now, of course. Leave it to those who’ve got more time.’

  And talent.

  ‘Like to keep up with what’s going on, though. In fact, Jennifer and I have just decided to go to a play on the Quayside next week.’

  Mack noticed the way Jennifer was holding her glass and wondered if it was Alex who had really decided about the play.

  ‘That’s nice for you both,’ he said.

  There was a patronising smile. ‘Yes, it will be. So … the Derrick family, know them in Brizzel?’

  Ooh, comedy rendition of Bristol, there’s no end to your talents.

  ‘I don’t think I do,’ he said, looking as though he was thinking, ‘but that’s not surprising, it’s quite a large city.’

  ‘But they’re a big name down there. Important family.’

  Thanks for the put-down.

  ‘In farming, Alex,’ Jennifer said, pushing forward. ‘Remember, Matt Harper isn’t a farmer, he’s a writer.’

  Alex had a supercilious look on his face, ‘Of course, a writer, not a farmer. Don’t like getting your hands dirty, I suppose?’

  Matt Harper merely smiled in an apologetic way, but Mack Stone thought: You have no bloody idea how dirty my hands are, mate. Even if you spent all day with yours halfway up a cow’s backside, they still wouldn’t be as dirty as mine.

  This time it was a rooster on the back seat that had almost made Jennifer drive off the road on the way back from the pub. She cursed Danny gently for messing with her ringtones again, before trying to ignore it. When the rooster would not shut up, she bumped back on to the grass verge by the side of the road and turned off the engine. Anyone watching her erratic progress was going to think she was doing some kind of Northumberland kerb-crawl, although as she was on a country lane with fields both sides, the only thing she was likely to pick up was a sheep. Well, that wasn’t unheard of.